I Think I Saw You In My Sleep, Darling
by Amberjean
Summary: It was a day like every other day, excluding the one fact that it was reaping day. The last one and then I'd be free. But it turned out to not be in ordinary day. It was the day I became a tribute for district seven. It was the day I was thrust into the Hunger Games. It was the day I was handed my death sentence. It was the day that set me up to meet Cato. Cato/OC
1. Just Another Reaping Day

_Hellloooo! Okay, I know know know I haven't updated my other two stories in like, shit, a long long time. I may or may not finish them, lately it's been on my mind. But! I have this new little thing that I just couldn't resist. So I hope you like it! It is Cato, and I hope you like my spin on the whole unknown tribute getting thrown into the games thing. I think I have a different take on it that will be a small fresh of breath air? Maybee? Lets see. I took a lot of inspiration on interviews with Alexander Ludwig, Cato, and his view on Cato's character. I'm going to stick to the books though, I didn't particularly enjoy the movie. There might be bits and pieces here and there but. Yeah._

_This first chapter is kinda oddly written, but in chapter two it will be first person and more real time, not flying through the day. I just really liked writing the first chapter like this. Please review and let me know if I should continue or if you liked it! (:_

_Disclaimer: Don't own it, never will, and in none of these chapters will I ever own the Hunger Games._

* * *

My day started out just as innocent as any other. I awoke at dawn, the early sun sprinkling in through the shutters of my window, like every morning. I pulled on sensible black pants and shirt, the same thing I dressed myself in every day for work. I walked the same dusty back road through the woods to begin cutting down the towering trees that reached for the heavens with my fellow coworkers. Beads of sweat ran down the back of my neck, tickling my skin as my muscles strained in the vigorous swinging of my ax, the dull pain of the strenuous repeated action that I had grown accustom to over the years. The only difference being our head lumberjack instructing us to head home early, because it was reaping day, the only day where such a rare occurrence as being let off a couple hours early happened. Which would have been a welcome event, if not it being for the foreshadowed possible death that could lay ahead for the minors of district seven.

So I went home, scrubbed the dirt off my pale skin til the it was raw and new, adorned my thin body with the single dress I ever owned, the pastel mint green fabric buttoning all the way down, delicate lace trimming the bottom and skimming my knees. Taming the waterfall of fiery spirals that was my hair into two side buns, loose curls kissing my lithe shoulders, leaving little goosebumps in their wake. I let my fingertips trace the black rich velvet of my mothers mary janes before fastening the buckle clinging to my ankles, having to use the very last hole strap. The same reaping outfit of the past six years, and thankfully the last, today.

My mother put her wiry hands on mine, drinking me in for a couple seconds, nodding her head, no words spoken, just as every reaping, before we started our way to the center of town, just the two of us. I signed in, took my place with my fellow eighteen year old acquaintances I had known since I was born, nerves beginning to snake their way slowly over me like little vines, enveloping me until the same anxiety of every year took full hold. I skimmed the heads of all the other souls around me, each and every young person there trying to collect themselves just as I. The same as every year.

I held in the bubble of laughter that rose in my chest as Volumina Whishhart sauntered across the stage in all her capitol glory. Her rosy pink cheeks, lips, and hair in matching fashion, as always. This year she had one side straight and short, the other curly and long, and it appeared she had opted for dusky periwinkle iris's this year, which scanned the crowd full of enthusiasm and child like joy. Her perky high-pitched voice assaulted the crowd with the unknown foreign accent we had been hearing for as long as the Hunger Games begun. I listened to her with almost no interest, my attention waning quickly, wanting to return home and maybe let out a cry that it was finally all over for me, my last reaping come and gone like the setting sun.

My entire being tensed and she gained my attention again as she walked the short distance to the glass bowl holding all of our fates in its seemingly unimportant circumference. My wide fearful amber eyes flashed to her perfectly manicured hand, poised and elegant, reaching into the hundreds of slips of paper. My own less groomed, callused hands flexed into fists, cutting little ovals into the palms.

"May the odds be ever in your favor!" echoed out of Volumina's heart shaped mouth. I had nothing to worry about. This was the same as every year. I worried and panicked until my name isn't called out and then I relish in guilty relief, finding it hard to feel sorry for whoevers certain death wasn't mine, because I was another year safe. This was the final time I ever had to do so, I didn't need to worry. So my body relaxed and for a split second a tiny smile of hope lifted on my face. I was finally free. The odds were ever in my favor.

But then in her chipper shrill voice, Volimina squeaked out, "Alder Redwood," and I froze in stunned disbelief, because that was my name. _Mine._The word repeated itself over and over. The girls around me parted like I had a disease. My lips quivered and a sob caught in the back of my throat, unable to make its way out as I was grabbed by both elbows and led to the stairs by two peacekeepers. I knew I had to look strong so the others would find me as a threat, but in that moment all I could do was stand there with a small shake in my bones, head hung in my forsaken fate.

The day started out like any other.

But now I am the girl tribute for district seven.

It was not like every day.


	2. Goodbyes and Trains

_So I didn't get any feedback for the first chapter, and usually I'd be discouraged, however! I'm personally really enjoying this. So I do hope you like this chapter and get more of a feel for this story now thats it's real time and personal! I'm stoked to get to Catooo! Soon..soon._

_Please please review if you get the chance. (:_

* * *

As I look down at all my fellow people, all I see is varying pity swimming in their eyes. They know I'm going to die. I spot my mother near the back, surrounded by other mothers of district seven trying to console her as she leans in the dirt on her knees, face tucked into the skirt of her dress. I can see the shake of her back from her sobs, which makes my eyes glisten in unshed tears that I couldn't let run down my cheeks. Crying in the reaping ceremony was the first sign to the other tributes that you were weak. In easy target. Fists clenched to my sides, I see Volumina making her way over to call out the boy tribute, the clack of her six inch heels ringing in my ears. To make another mother cry. To hand out another death sentence.

"Now, now, lets see who will be representing the boys of your district in the 74th annual Hunger Games!" Volumina belts out, taking the attention away from me for a moment, which I gratefully appreciate. I have to collect myself. I can see the careers now, pointing at my form on the television as they review the reaping and pick their victims out one by one. If I don't show more than a timid girl in distress, well, I can already here them calling out, "Dead."

With this realization, I straighten out my back, clasp my hands behind me, and replace my quivering expression with a blank, hopefully determined, stare out into the audience. I will probably die in the games, but there is no way in hell I will go down without a fight.

* * *

The rest of the reaping goes by in a blur, as if I'm on fast forward. Sixteen year old Ashar Green joins my side, falling apart the second he's escorted up the stairs. His baby blue eyes shimmering with tears stare out in a silent plea for someone to volunteer for him, one of his brothers, a friend, anyone, but of course they all lower their eyes in shame and avoid his beseeching gaze. The second I shake his fumbling hand with his wavering grasp, I can't help but think, _dead._

The next thing I know Volumina is making one last exclamation of, "Happy Hunger Games!," as she places a manicured hand on mine and Ashar's shoulder before whisking us into the Justice building where I'm led to a room where I know I will be saying my goodbyes. My mother is the only person I expect to come. I had friends growing up, the people I'd say hello to as we passed on the streets. However, I was never close to anybody, at least enough for them to come face me before my funeral. I regretted that now. Spending all my time working so that there was food on the table. My life has been nothing but work. This was a routine event in district seven though, we were known for being the most hard working district in Panem. In didn't help that it just being my mom and I, we had to compensate for the lack of a father or other siblings. Even though it's not his fault that he died, there has always been a nestling resentment in me for him leaving us and in result making our life so much more laborious. And now, my mother would be left alone. I shake my head, trying to rid the distressing thoughts. It wasn't a time for thinking about such things, such distractions.

This is all I think about as I stand in the center of the room, glancing around occasionally and trying to keep myself composed and mind occupied so no depressing thoughts could slip in. There would be cameras soon, and I couldn't be seen with puffy red eyes and nose. So I think about how the room smells like cedar and there are miniscule dust particles floating around that occasionally catch the light and let themselves be seen. I had a feeling nobody entered this room but once a year, and it gave off the feeling of death and despair, the room where all the tributes sorrow of seeing their loved ones a last time collected over seventy four years. The thought makes a shiver run up my spine and I rub my arms uncomfortably. I no longer wanted to be in here. The aura reeked of my forlorn.

I'm not sure how long I pace the wooden floors before the door creaks open and there enters my mother. I only have to take in her flaming hair and hunter eyes for a fleeting moment before I can't hold it all in any longer.

"Mama," tumbles out of my mouth as I rush into her awaiting arms.

"Shhh, my love, it's okay," she coos in my ear as if talking to an infant. Her low comforting voice finally makes my eyes water and then I feel the inkling of tears run down and sprinkle across her shoulder, surely staining the tan muslin. I no longer cared if they would see my tears.

"I'm going to die," I manage to choke out between my shuddering uneven breaths, "Mama I'm going to die!" I grip her tighter, melting down more and more by the second.

Suddenly she jerks me in front of her, startling me enough to hiccup my sob and take in a gasp of air.

"Listen to me Alder, you stop talking like that right this second!," Her voice rises taking me by surprise, she never yelled at me, "You're going to do everything you possibly can to come home! You're going to come home to me and that is the only option." I can hear the hysteria in her trembling words, she doesn't believe whats she saying. There is no way I can win, there were kids that were raised to compete, and almost won every year, she knows that just as much as I do.

"I'm not strong enough, emotionally or physically, you know this." My voice drops off at the end as I speak my concerns. Mother gently places her worn hands on my reddened cheeks, forcing me to look into her troubled moss colored eyes. It makes my very core ache to realize this will be the last time I see my mother. I use this moment to place my own hands on her face as well, making sure to scan and code every detail of her to memory. Her long, thin nose, high cheekbones and look of constant wisdom, her pouting mouth always hiding a hint of mischievous smile that dad use to say was always prevalent when she was young. Her green eyes which always sparkled no matter her mood, and the flowing curls of bright scarlet hair I inherited from her. I knew she was a thing of beauty in her youth, the years dismantling her into looking tired and worn, but always beautiful. Just the way I'd remember her.

"You are strong," she says, snapping me out of memorization, "You've been using an ax since you were twelve, and you're one of the best lumberjacks in your division, even out of the men who are twice your age, Alder." She stares me hard in the eyes, and for a second I almost believe what she is saying before the nerves strike me again.

"I'm not half as trained as others, though." I stutter out another excuse, trying to brake her unwavering glare.

"It doesn't matter! Get this attitude out of your head! We both faltered at first when they called out your name, but you're a fighter and knew you had to appear like a contender, I saw you. You have that in your heart! You can outwit them, you're intelligent. And emotionally I have witnessed how strong you can be, from when your father passed. So no more excuses, do you understand?" Her tone softens at the end, and I know she's right.

"I understand." I mumble as we share a last look at each other, and then the door is thrown open and a peacekeeper stalks in.

"Time to go." He commands, voice gruff and harsh.

My mother nods at him, kisses my forehead and smooths my curls down, whispering a gentle, "I love you," in my ear. I'm too in disbelief to say anything back right away. This was it, our time was up. I had to say goodbye. So I wrap my arms around her lanky frame, taking in her scent of pine and sandalwood a last time, and then shes ripped away from me and led to the door, our hands outstretched reaching for each other. I shout I love you while I still have the chance and she gives me a saddened smile.

The last thing I hear my mother say before the door closes is, "Come home Alder," and then she's gone, and I'm once again alone in the room of sorrows, adding to it's collection with my own.

* * *

I take one last breath of my home, the trees and fresh air, nature in abundance, before taking a hesitant step onto the train, my nose assaulted with the stench of metal and then replaced with an array of assorted foods, my mouth instantly watering and forgetting about the smell of steal and focusing on the delicious cuisine wafting into my nostrils. Food I had never even seen was piled onto multiple tables, gorgeous mahogany tables at that, district seven never had the luxury of such food in ample portions. The room itself made my jaw job, I knew the capitol lived a life of exuberant opulence, but I had never seen such extravagance. Jealously and disgust lingered in the back of my mind, but this was the ways of Panem, and I knew to just accept that I was born in different ways.

"Just divine, isn't it?!," Volumina coins in as she saunters into the room, "Aren't you so lucky to be able to be in such magnificent accommodations?" She places a hand on her hip and stares at us expectantly, a smile on her done up face.

I glance to the left of me where Ashar is gaping at his surroundings, the tear stains on his cheeks now dry. He had sobbed the entire way here. It was obvious he was too stunned to speak so I answer Volumina, "I've never seen anything like it." With a fake smile on my face. Might as well appease her for now. Apparently it does cause she shoots me a wide grin in return. It makes me want to gag.

"Now, now, sit while and go find Johanna. I'm sure she's just dying to meet you!" Volumina says, gesturing us to a dining table littered with food. I take a seat and sink down, as if trying to hind behind the navy tablecloth. I look at Ashar who takes the chair next to me, he try's to give me a smile but it just looks pathetic. I scoff at him, not in the mood for pleasantries or manners.

I very much so _doubt _Johanna Mason is excited to meet me. From what I've seen, Johanna isn't the most caring and...loving mentor...or person. I frown. Mentor. I'm meeting my mentor. All of sudden the games seemed that much more real.

_Fuck._


End file.
